


How We Operate

by ladyflowdi



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Aliens Make Them Do It, Dubious Consent, F/M, M/M, Multi, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn, That Cannot Be Stressed Enough
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-02-18
Updated: 2007-02-18
Packaged: 2017-12-24 14:03:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/940836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyflowdi/pseuds/ladyflowdi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“Hours?” Oh, God, John couldn’t do this, even if Rodney was making noises no man should make, and Ronon’s hands were under the table, and John was not seeing this, he was not--</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	How We Operate

**Author's Note:**

> My first poly fic, but not my last. Title taken from the song of the same name by Gomez, which I listened to the entire time I was writing this. Part of my LJ-to-AO3 project.

John was a hot blooded, cow eating, gun toting American manly man, and he really, really loved sex.

That being said, it seemed that the older he got the less he thought about it, kind of like that follow-up dentist appointment that he never really remembered to get scheduled, and on the day that he should have been there for the appointment he has this niggling anxiety, as if by missing that one appointment he‘d doomed himself to dentures in his dotage. Sex is like that for him now, as bad as it sounds. He can’t help it, dammit. He’s _tired_. 

No one (not that John had told a soul) would blame him for conveniently forgetting to hit on the random lonely scientist. He had other worries on his mind, and most nights a warm bed and a soft pillow were a million times more comforting than the ridiculous amount of work it took for an orgasm that was always mediocre at best. 

The saddest part in the whole messy affair was that John didn’t regret it much, either. He’d had his misspent youth, sown his wild oats. Now he had his friends and his work, Atlantis, Pegasus -- and it was better than anything he could have ever dreamed of. Most days it was even _better_ than sex, if such a thing could be imagined. Most days.

“You know, there’s an entire section on just such a situation in the SGC handbook,” Rodney hissed in a panicked whisper. “I thought it was just to scare the new recruits, you know -- keep them from fathering alien babies across the Milky Way. Very messy, paternity suits and such. I didn’t--” and his voice broke, because Ronon’s fingertip was carefully tracing Rodney’s jaw, and Rodney wasn’t jerking away, Canadian sensibilities or not. “--I didn’t realize that -- get _off_ me -- I didn’t realize… crap,” and he grabbed a handful of Ronon’s dreads and yanked, which just made Ronon set his teeth on Rodney’s jaw hard enough to make Rodney whine, high and loud, in his throat.

“Chief Poque,” Teyla said, her voice shaking. Her chest was rising and falling with her every gasp, and wisps of her hair had already stuck to her temple, her cheek. Her nipples poked through her soft leather blouse. Not that John was looking or anything. “I have explained in the past that we did not wish to partake in your festivities in this regard.”

“But it is the harvesting ceremony!” Poque said, undoing his kilt-like loin cloth and settling one of his many wives firmly on a cock much more massive than John would have thought. The wife was naked as the day she was born, all lithe lines and big breasts and _holy God_ , John moved his eyes to stare at his plate, the only safe place left in the banquet hall.

“I understand this,” Teyla said, her voice hitching, and from his peripheral John saw a dark hand that could only belong to Ronon moving across her chest. The other held Rodney, who was making ridiculous stuttering noises that nonetheless managed to be _sexy as hell_. “However, the culture of the Atlanteans does not permit such unions.”

One of the wives, a busty redhead with a smattering of freckles across her pale, pink cheeks, slithered down the table. All John could see of her were her bright curls, directly in line with his plate, between the rosy thighs of the wife mounted on Poque’s cock. John was aware of Poque saying something but goddammit, John was an officer and a gentleman but he wasn’t _dead_. 

The two brunette wives to Poque’s left twined around each other. Forget porn -- this was so much better than porn, because in porn women were usually making out for a man’s benefit. These women weren’t even aware of John‘s gaze. They were kissing like it would go out of style if they ever stopped, grinding with purpose, and their breasts, their outrageously huge breasts, were crushed against one another.

John was vaguely aware his ears were ringing, and he was so hard it was quite possible he was going to pop the buttons of his pants, but he couldn’t look away. In fact, not only could he _not_ look away, he couldn’t keep his hand from sliding down between his legs. He gave his neglected cock one long, slow squeeze just as the redhead squealed and lifted her hips to the blond wife’s fingers, dipping low and deep and _in_.

Someone’s tongue flickered into his ear. Warm lips latched onto the lobe and sucked, and John didn’t groan like a kid at his first make out party, he just _didn’t_. 

He’d smelled her before, innocently, when they were stick fighting or when she crouched down next to him. She’d smelled like woman, musky and sort of soft, but it had never turned him on like it did now. She smelled like the sweet shampoo she used, the delicate perfume of crushed flower petals. “Teyla.”

“John.” She hooked one leg around the chair, then swung her leg over him like she was mounting a horse, and that soft, damp center of her pressed against his aching dick. The shiver started at his toes and crawled up his back, across his prickling scalp and down to his nipples, which tightened unbearably. She rocked against him, one slow, sensuous grind that had him spreading his hands across her back, up into her hair. 

He had to resist. This was Teyla, for God‘s sake, so strong and sure of herself. This wasn’t _her_ , this was whatever the hell Poque had put in their _food_ , and behind them Rodney was moaning almost continually, low and gasping. 

He went light headed, dizzy with the blood that rushed south, and it took everything in him not to look over her shoulder, because if he let himself look at his two other teammates he knew the tenuous grip on his control would slip. He concentrated on Teyla’s face, on her big eyes filled with anxiety, on her hands, gripping his shoulders tightly. “He says it will wear off in a few hours.”

“Hours?” Oh, God, John couldn’t do this, even if Rodney was making noises no man should make, and Ronon’s hands were under the table, and John was not seeing this, he was not--

“There is nothing to be done. It is a fever of the body,” Teyla whispered, even as she pressed closer to him, her hands desperate against his face, her cheeks pink and her forehead damp. “Poque offers his banquet hall or the privacy of our room.” 

Ronon had his mouth latched to Rodney’s neck, and their hands were in unbuttoned places where hands should not be at the dinner table. John wondered what Ronon would look like between Rodney’s legs, sucking at his cock with his fingers crammed up that tight ass. How Rodney would look, head thrown back, hips pumping into Ronon’s fingers, spreading for his--

“John,” Teyla demanded, and turned his head so his eyes had no choice but to move back to hers. “Our packs are in our room, where we left them.”

Right. Okay. Yes. “Tie us up until tomorrow.”

Her eyes went wide. “What?”

“There are zip ties in our packs.” He’d taught her how to use them himself. 

Before Teyla could respond Ronon leaned over, and for a second John thought he was going to push Rodney up onto the table and spread him like a feast, but his mouth moved in an entirely different direction. He yanked, and the soft leather of Teyla’s blouse gave, the ties unraveling enough, just enough, to spill her breasts free. Beautiful, amazing breasts, big and firm and pointed just a little down, they were possibly the most gorgeous breasts John had ever seen. Teyla arched and cried out, and God, John always knew she’d have sensitive nipples, but he never thought he’d see them latched between Ronon’s whiskered lips. 

She had big nipples. Not obscene or anything but a good size, pointed and a sweet dark brown. John had only seen her naked once, during the coolant scare that had gotten him front and center with more naked colleagues than he’d ever thought he’d be confronted with. The pain had distracted him from pretty much everything, but he remembered her breasts because he was a sick bastard.

John could see Ronon’s teeth, could hear her hitching breath, could _feel_ it because Teyla was grinding down against him, hotwetohgod, and she had a fist in his hair leading him to her other breast. 

“John,” Teyla said again. She twitched, shifting, almost frantic, and any other time he’d have resisted -- he _needed_ to resist. It was like something else was moving him, like he was a puppet in control of a different master. 

It was like being _seventeen_ again.

Her breasts were big but she wasn’t, and Ronon was surprisingly selfish. Ronon’s unshaven cheek kept rasping along John’s, battling him for the lone nipple peaking through the ties of her blouse, for the place between where she smelled the best. John growled and Ronon growled louder, and oh, God, John hadn’t kissed someone in so long, and Ronon could do it so well, all tongue and heat and power. Greediness marked Ronon’s mouth, then impatience when he grabbed and _ripped_ Teyla‘s shirt open for them both. Beside them, Rodney moaned. 

“John,” Teyla cried again, even as he set his teeth on the nearest nipple, swollen and hard. “Please, we must -- Rodney,” and John had no idea what she was talking about until he looked up and saw Rodney’s fingers fumbling with the pant ties of one of Poque’s servants, and yeah, that wasn’t happening, goddammit, because -- it just _wasn’t_. 

John knocked Ronon’s head out of the way and fisted Rodney’s jacket, hauling him away from the servant. “No,” he snarled, and yeah, fuck yeah, that did it for him on so many levels -- Rodney, stunned, eyes wide and bright blue. John wondered if that’s how Rodney would look with his legs hooked over John’s shoulders, virgin ass swallowing his cock. If he’d clench his eyes shut when John knocked up against his prostate, if it’d feel so good he’d drip pre-come all over John’s fingers. John would make him taste it, lick it from his fingers, suck it off. 

Holy fuck. Holy _fuck_. He pulled Rodney as hard as he could and half stood until their mouths met. For a second it was awkward; neither of them knew what to do and for that one second the fear that exploded through John’s body was so sharp his heart jack hammered. Then Rodney’s tense mouth went slack, opened, softened, both an invitation and plea it would have taken a stronger man than John to refuse. 

Rodney tasted like coffee, and the rough leather that was all Ronon, and the food they’d eaten. He tasted _warm_ , like what an evening spent in bed with a roaring fire, kind of soft and earthy and comforting. 

For one long second no one existed but the two of them. The race to get naked had been paused and John felt like he could stand there forever kissing Rodney, because it was just that good, that wonderful, that perfect. 

Someone stroked his cock through his pants and John let go, crying out embarrassingly loud. Rodney’s eyes, glazed and confused, opened wide, but by then Teyla had grabbed his cock too, bright eyed right below them, and okay, yeah. This was going to happen, and it was going to happen right _now_. 

John hung onto the last thread of his self control with an iron grip. He hauled Teyla up, her breasts swinging free and beautiful, and Ronon did the same to Rodney, and okay, they were going, they were going, and Ronon was grabbing one of the bowls, and Rodney was _frantic_. It was the most surreal thing John had ever seen, Rodney and Ronon locked into a kiss. Jealousy reared ugly in him, because that taste was _his_ , even if it wasn’t before today. They were all battling wills and fisting hands and Rodney, yanking at Ronon’s dreads, and Ronon, grabbing Rodney’s gorgeous ass. 

No. _No_.

It was possible he snarled it, because Teyla jerked against him at the same time Ronon let Rodney go. “Sheppard,” Ronon rumbled, and okay, yes.

Later, John wouldn’t remember how the hell it was he got them all to their room without tumbling down into an orgy in the middle of the hallway. He thought maybe it had to do with the fact that the hallway was already occupied several times over, and they were tripping over various limbs as they made their way to the room Poque had designated as theirs the several times they’d come to Quo-Qup. 

It was the only thing that got them to their room. In his darker thoughts, thoughts he wouldn’t even tell Kate, the idea of someone other than him touching his team was enough to raise his hackles so high they were practically in a low orbit.

The door to the room banged open so hard John felt it shudder in his chest, and then they were moving, and that was good, that was _perfect_. Rodney had bitched and complained for _days_ the first time they visited the Quo-Qup over their strange beds -- they were round, enormous, and sunk down into the floor so deep they needed three steps to get down onto them. They were springy and thick, with enormous pillows and no blankets to speak of. 

It seemed like a damned good idea, now. 

Ronon tossed Teyla onto the pillows, literally yanked her from his waist and threw her down, and John’s belly dropped throbbing into his cock. Then it was all show, Teyla among the silk with her chest heaving and her thighs rubbing, and Ronon, slowly and carefully pulling his knives free. From his hair, his clothes, his boots they came, each more deadly than the last. It was the sexiest thing John had ever seen in his life, and Ronon _knew_ it. Teyla got her own back, unbuttoning her BDU’s one handed with skill and dexterity not even John could manage, and plunged her fingers deep, _in_ , writhing with a pleasure that made Ronon growl in fury and John moan.

Fingers fumbled at his groin and he jerked, and realized while he’d been staring at Teyla getting herself off he’d missed Rodney, who was on his knees, unbuttoning, and -- 

_Mouth_.

He cried out, his knees buckled, and he’d have hit the floor if Rodney hadn’t shoved those linebacker shoulders of his up against John’s thighs. John’s _cock_ was in Rodney’s _mouth_ and he was sucking like a man dying, gagging, but he kept going after it, over and over and over, the most blissed out expression John had ever seen on his face raising twin points of color onto his cheeks.

He and Rodney had been hurtling this way for so long; John had known it somewhere deep he didn’t usually acknowledge. People _didn’t get hard_ from banter. People didn’t have barely lucid fantasies of cocks and mouths and gasping pleas and thinning hair and big hands with bigger shoulders and a bigger mouth, perfect to -- 

He laced his hands in that hair, stroked through, held tight, despite the protesting noises below. Right in front of them Ronon had shoved Teyla’s pants down enough to push his face between her legs. All John could hear over the roar of his heart was Ronon’s mouth working Teyla to orgasm, and the obscene noise of Rodney sucking him off. Rodney moaned with each suck, and fuck, John didn’t want to come, not yet, not -- 

He pushed and Rodney let go with a wet slurp. His mouth was cherry red wet and bruised, and his eyes were glittering with lust, blank and swimming. John couldn’t help hauling him to his feet by his flack jacket and attaching himself to that mouth until the heat exploded between them, furnace hot. He’d never felt anything like this, lust so sharp inside him that he was sure if he didn’t do something about it soon he was going to have a heart attack. Rodney looked like he was in the same frame of mind, but John wasn’t so much paying attention to his face, seeing as how he was too busy yanking his vest and his jacket off. 

Rodney was _male_ , big shoulders and perky little nipples that had driven John crazy for most of the time he’d known him, all leading down to trim hips and thighs that could crush him. There was power in Rodney’s body, something that could only try to be imitated. Not like a Jumper, which was always controlled and sleek -- this was like John was at the wheel of the most powerful sports car in the universe, engine revving under him, roaring with the need to just _move_.

Nothing could match the high of Rodney vibrating under his palms, waiting for him to hit the gas and _go_.

Fuck. Oh, God, fuck.

The t-shirt ripped under his hands, and he felt Rodney’s hands doing the same to his, and -- there went the thud of their thigh holsters, the clunk of belts and guns hitting the ground, the shimmy of boots being undone. Then there was nothing but skin, glorious flesh, his tanned to Rodney’s creamy.

They tumbled down onto the pillows, and maybe John clipped Ronon in the hip with his elbow, but he didn’t _care_ because Rodney was under him, jerking and thrusting up and nearly unseating him.

More. He wanted to taste. He wanted Rodney. He wanted Rodney against the dusk of Teyla’s skin, with Ronon behind. He wanted to see him pale against their dark, to watch his eyes go blank with shocked pleasure, to hear him roar in agony and ecstasy. He wanted Rodney, dripping with sweat, aching against Ronon’s huge, thrusting cock. He wanted to taste Ronon’s come as it dripped out of him, wanted to lick until Rodney was sobbing with sensation, until his skin was red and his cock was purple and _then_ he’d come, long, forever, as John drove into him and filled him full. 

“I’m sorry,” John gasped, because he was so hard it hurt, and his hands were skidding over Rodney’s belly and thighs and _cock_ , thick and hard and big in his hand. 

“Me too, really,” Rodney moaned from below, his thighs falling open under John, his hips bucking into his hands. He drove his fingers through John’s hair until they fisted at the base of his skull, moving John’s mouth like he wanted. 

John set his teeth on his nipples again, sucking and licking harder. “Ever done this?” 

“Group sex?” Rodney laughed out loud, strained and sharp. “Sure, every Saturday night the scientists get together for a little mutual masturbation. Zelenka brings the hooch, I provide the homemade lube.”

“Funny.” John shifted down enough to set his mouth on cock, _finally_ , wet and musky and tasting just about as good as he’d ever had. Rodney cried out and crammed a fist into his mouth, jerking greedy hips up into John’s mouth. John licked a stripe up the length, sucked hard at the head, nosed crinkly pubic hair. “I meant this, with a guy.”

“Oh, God. No.” Rodney moved like an ocean under John’s body, blue eyes glassy and bright. “You?”

“Yeah, but it’s been about--”

“Twenty years?”

“More or less,” John said, glancing up the length of pale skin to see Rodney panting, head thrown back--

“Gonna talk all night, or are we gonna fuck?” Ronon demanded. 

Ronon and Teyla both were looking at them expectantly. Teyla, all long sinews, full, beautiful breasts and trim little hips, stared at him helplessly. Her mouth was kissed bruised, her thighs shiny and writhing, her fingers tweaking at her nipples until they stood hard from her chest, dark points wet with saliva. 

John leaned over and kissed her, set his teeth on the plump bottom of her lower lip. She tasted like _Ronon_. He knew she could taste the sweet of Rodney on his tongue, because she was shivering and licking into his mouth, taking it into herself. It was intoxicating, this -- Rodney’s hands on his belly, Ronon’s bigger ones on his back, and John didn’t want it to ever end. 

Except it did, when Ronon dragged him up from Teyla’s mouth to his, and if John thought he’d been high before, this -- God. Ronon’s mouth was dominance and heat, enough submissive give to quell the alpha in John’s heart but enough fierceness to make him shake with pleasure. It was like kissing Rodney, yet not -- Ronon was rough where Rodney was smooth, fierce while Rodney was clever. It was like the same flavor of ice cream from two different brands -- it was still chocolate chip mint, but each gallon tasted just a little bit different. 

He could have kept on kissing Ronon forever, if Rodney hadn’t whined, honest to God _whined_ from below him. His fingers, thick and strong, grasped at John’s hips and pulled, and suddenly there was more of John’s anatomy pressed to Rodney’s than he’d ever thought there would be. 

It was the most awesome thing he’d ever felt, and John flew _mind controlled space ships for a living_. 

“Oh, God,” he gasped, because Rodney’s thighs were falling open and he was pulling John down into the cradle of them, enough so their cocks met and thrust. He dragged his fingers through Rodney’s hair, nosing his throat, jerking up into Ronon’s hand sliding between his ass cheeks. 

Whatever part of Rodney that was slipping out of control refocused, and his eyes came back from that hazy, blank place sex had driven him to. He swallowed; John sucked on his Adam’s apple as he did it, and Rodney’s cock jumped against his thigh. “I never actually, uh --” He swallowed again, arching into John’s fingers digging into his thigh. 

“Don’t over-think this,” John murmured, for the both of them, and he would have said more if Ronon hadn’t pulled him up onto his knees and his finger’s hadn’t found his hole, circling and pushing in. 

It hurt, not bad but enough for John to remember just how long it had been since he’d done something like this. Ronon’s fingers were big, fucking huge, and the one in his ass felt like it was splitting him open. He couldn’t even imagine how much his cock would feel, as big as it was.

Maybe John went a little cross eyed -- he didn’t see Rodney’s face, but he could hear his breathing speed up, feel his body shiver. “Oh, God. Does Ronon…?”

“Does he have a finger in my ass? The answer -- “ Ronon found his prostate and ground into it mercilessly. “Is yes, yes, _oh hell yes.”_

“Oh, God,” Rodney whispered, but cut off whatever else he was going to say with a sharp moan. John opened his eyes in time to watch Teyla settle herself on Rodney’s face, and there went John’s higher brain functions, that was it, he was _done_. All it took was for John to lean forward onto his elbows and push his mouth up between her ass cheeks. 

He couldn’t get far from this angle, but he could feel Rodney’s breath against his chin, gasping as his tongue moved over Teyla’s folds, over and over and over. Could smell him in the musk of Teyla’s thighs as he licked, could feel him moving, working his tongue into her. 

John left him to it and moved further back, to the dusky star of her hole, and drove his tongue as far in as he could go. 

Teyla sobbed above them, long and loud. John didn’t have to look to know Ronon was fondling her breasts again -- he could feel Ronon’s arm to his left moving over her, tweaking and tugging, and oh, God, oh _God_ , John didn’t think he was going to survive this without having a fucking heart attack.

Finger number two hurt worse than the first, but the burn was better than anything he’d ever felt. The lube was good, slick, and it pushed Ronon in all the way to the third knuckle so fast John didn’t have a chance to move away from the burn before it hit.

He forgot everything and centered his entire existence on Ronon‘s busy fingers, breathing into Teyla’s skin and listening to Rodney moan. Those fingers were everything, working and thrusting in him. He was hot and swollen with need. His cock dribbled pre-come, long lines of it painting Rodney’s thighs, shiny and wet. 

Ronon had stopped touching Teyla, and one big hand was rubbing warm down John’s back. It centered him, the moans in front and the grunts in back. The fingers slid free and a second later they were bigger, more, three fingers -- fuck, he couldn’t, “Ronon,” he choked, eyes clenching. Ronon hushed him, hand moving up his back and pushing him forward, away from Teyla. He felt Rodney’s cock pressing into his chest, Teyla’s thighs brushing his hair, as those fingers pushed back in.

It was more than he could stand. He couldn’t do it. It was too much, the burn was too sharp. He was sweating, simultaneously cold and hot, shaking. Ronon kept grunting, the thick hot wet of his cock brushing John’s thighs, the rumble of his voice drowning out John’s gasping breaths. “Relax.”

“Fuck you,” John gasped.

“Later. Fuck _you_ now. And you fuck McKay.”

To this point John had thought Rodney had gotten lost in Teyla’s pussy -- an admittedly wonderful thing -- but at Ronon’s words he jerked and moaned and tensed under John’s body, which only made it _better_. 

It made the fingers hurt less, made them slip in deeper, better, and then Ronon pulled back and thrust them back in, and oh, _yes_. 

“John,” Ronon rumbled, low and deep against John’s ass cheek. He pushed the bowl he’d been using forward, and John wasted no time. Ronon pulled him back by the hip and John shoved Rodney’s thighs up and out, spreading them so he could see the warm dark shadow of his hole. Teyla stopped rocking on Rodney’s face and lifted up, turning herself so she was face to face with John.

She was red. Sweating. Her breasts were huge, bruised from Ronon’s pinching fingers. She fingered those bruises as she set herself right back on Rodney’s face, and oh, _God_. Rodney’s head tipped back and all John could see of his face was the dark stubble of the underside of his jaw as it worked up into her, licking and sucking. 

Teyla gave him a smile, the kind of smile that was much more _relaxed_ than the situation warranted, and just as suddenly John knew, like he knew P-90’s had a hell of a shock bounce and Elizabeth missed Earth and the Ancients were fucked in the head that she and Ronon had been planning something like this for a long time. They were looking at each other just right, and John could feel Ronon smiling, and it was because they were a team, and… and it made it _good_.

“Rodney,” she keened, soft, and Rodney moaned, muffled, up against her. “John’s going to open you, now,” she murmured, and Rodney tensed again, abruptly, but Teyla really was too smart for her own good. She wrapped her mouth around Rodney’s cock, and he yelled, loud, muted, and his thighs fell open of their own accord.

It was all John could do. He pushed those legs up onto his shoulders and slid his fingers down to the shadow of his thighs. The skin was wrinkled, soft to the touch, warm. John traced the hole softly before pressing one finger in.

Rodney tensed -- John got it, he really did, but he took it from Ronon and kept pushing through the muscle until Rodney jerked and whimpered, pulling from him until he abruptly stopped. He melted around John’s finger, the muscle loosening, and John took it as a good sign. He thrust, careful, and then Ronon shoved him downward, and he got it.

Teyla was busy sucking Rodney’s cock, but she wasn’t doing it to get him off. To the contrary, John was increasingly aware of the fact that she was a _tease_ , because she wasn’t giving him enough to come -- just for John to get him open, a mixed blessing.

John tongued Rodney’s balls and added another finger, riding Rodney through the initial pull away, the sound of discomfort, and felt him relax again, smooth and soft. The third finger went in with a little more difficulty, and Rodney’s thighs were straining around his head as he cursed into Teyla’s pussy. She tensed and drove herself down onto him, uncaring of his frustration, and he grabbed her hips and sucked her through her orgasm as John pushed and pushed until all three of his fingers were deep.

Then it was a blur. Ronon pulled him back onto his hands and knees, and John’s belly tensed itself into knots as the blunt head of a cock bigger than he’d ever taken pressed against his hole. He couldn’t do this, he couldn’t -- but then he _was_ , he was taking it, slow and impossibly deep. 

It split him open at the seams, more fucking delicious than John had ever felt, packing him tight and so deep John could feel him when he swallowed. He kept pushing until John thought he was going to have to tell him to stop, until he couldn’t take any more, until tears spilled from the corners of his eyes and he choked on his own tongue, and then it was done. Ronon was in.

John opened his eyes when a small hand roughly stroked his cock, and he met Teyla’s laughing, sympathetic eyes, sweet with understanding. She got off Rodney’s face, leaving it shining with her juices, and Ronon shimmied them both closer. Rodney was incoherent, babbling -- his cock was dark purple with blood, tense and rigid. It matched John’s.

Ronon pulled John up to his chest and John moaned, guttural and scraping at his throat. Everything rearranged itself inside and his cock jumped, spraying pre-come across his belly and Rodney’s hips. Teyla pushed one of the cushions under Rodney’s hips, and then it was just a matter of hooking Rodney’s legs around John and Ronon both, and then John was sinking, sinking, sinking deep into the heat.

Rodney writhed with that fine mix of pain and pleasure John knew all about. He kept pushing, even when Rodney gasped and shoved at his shoulder, pushed until he was seated deep and Rodney’s virgin ass spread around him, clenching, just like John had wanted. His eyes were shocked and blue, his face at once sheet white and flushed red, and it was the sexiest thing John had ever seen in his life. He brushed Rodney’s legs, his cock, his chest, over and over, moaning deeper and harder as Ronon rearranged himself to take the pressure of their weight. Teyla mounted Rodney’s cock, spreading and sinking down onto him.

John could hear Rodney over the roar of his blood, a litany of choked words, “Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God,” but John was too caught between filled and filling, spread wide around cock and deep inside, and Ronon pulled back his hips and _thrust_ , and he and Teyla knew all about this, because it moved all of them in tandem; John into Rodney, Rodney into Teyla, then back again.

They were suspended for one single moment, as if none of them could believe the pleasure, and then -- _more_.

It was a race. Ronon, driving into John, cursing, roaring. It was the most surreal experience of his life, because John was spread wider than he’d ever been, was filled deeper, and it was like he’d had been waiting for it. It was much the same with Rodney, because fuck, John didn’t have a cock like Ronon’s but Rodney was sobbing with the same need coming out of John’s mouth, clenched on John’s cock as it moved in and out of him, so tight John knew Rodney was loving it just as much. And Teyla, Teyla was along for the ride, pleasing herself on Rodney, and John knew it was because Rodney’s cock wasn’t the longest but it had to be thicker than Ronon’s, heavy and meaty.

Any other time and John couldn’t have lasted. Wouldn’t. He knew his limitations, his threshold, and he felt a shiver of fear when he came to it and _passed_ it. It never ended. It felt like sex for hours; Rodney had started to scream, and his ass was throbbing around John’s dick, and his fingers were clamped on John’s arms. John yanked Rodney’s hips up into his lap and Rodney’s legs went over John’s and Ronon’s shoulders. It was better, deeper, and Teyla leaned over, kissing Rodney’s sobs away. 

The world went dewy around him. There was no end to him. He couldn’t tell which was his hand, which was his cock, his legs or arms. He was them, and they were him. The burn under his skin flew through his blood, and John knew it was the drugs, that they were what was giving him this endless pleasure. Suddenly he _got_ why Poque had wanted to share this -- it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever felt, yanking at the threads of his mind, separating them, then knitting them back together like new. 

The crest came, sweet, deep, high, and he felt himself rushing towards it, felt Ronon start going faster, straining harder and deeper. More, now, faster, faster, until the precipice came and John jumped off of it.

If the sex burned then his orgasm was made by the fires of hell. He heard Teyla scream, louder and louder, over and over, and Ronon thrust deep and stayed, and Rodney was coming fluttering around him, and John was coming, spilling, falling, deeper, deeper, deeper.


End file.
